


Crossfire

by ElevatorAction13



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Abuse Mentions, Blood, Crossfire, Crossfire versions of all the characters, F/F, Gay Nuns, M/M, Masturbation, gay priests, it's set in Crossfire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-11-09 16:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElevatorAction13/pseuds/ElevatorAction13
Summary: Section 13. The Iscariots. The assassins of the Catholic Church. Their work was bloody and shrouded in secrecy, and their lives and those of those associated with them were always at risk. This is a story of their lives, of their loves, and of the mortal dangers that are just another day on the job.





	1. Business before Pleasure

A brief flash of flame shot up from Father Anderson’s black Zippo, and he held it up to the cigarette in his lips, shielding the flame from the gentle breeze that was blowing throughout the outdoor café. The tip of the cigarette lit, and he sighed in relief as he took those first couple relaxing puffs, stuffing his lighter and cig box back in his pant’s pocket.

It was only a few moments of reprieve though, from the obvious fact that had been plaguing him. Enrico Maxwell was half and hour late to their scheduled meeting, an issue that brought multiple vicious anxieties to the front. 

Was he okay? 

Was he stuck in traffic? 

Did something come up and he forgot to cancel?

Did something bad happen?

An attack?

Was he sick?

Did he get lost?

Car broke down?

And last but not least: Was he being stood up right now? 

Sighing again, in frustration this time, he looked through his papers to keep his hands busy with something. It was a relatively thick stack of documents, all organized into their own neat folders according to topic and event. If there was anything Anderson kept meticulously tidy in his life it was his work, and even at the table, waiting for the Iscariot leader, he went through them to make sure every paper was there and in it’s right place. Besides being practical; he wouldn’t be caught dead at a meeting with messy work, it calmed him to look through his collection of files. 

As he was in the middle of reading through his latest findings, the soft whirr of a car pulling up caught his attention immediately and his head shot up. A sleek black car had just rolled to a full stop in front of the café, one with dark windows and a shining silver Archangel hood ornament on the front. Anderson almost knocked the chair over he stood up so fast. 

Faint, muffled curses became loud and clear once the driver hurriedly opened the door that had been hiding the Bishop. With his briefcase in tow, Enrico Maxwell, leader of Section 13 Iscariot, stepped out, and immediately proceeded to loudly berate the apologetic driver, gesturing wildly in his anger. Anderson could easily pick up the conversation, as could most of the patrons around him. 

“Go! Just go! I’m already late enough! Stay here! Do not leave I swear if I’m stranded here I’ll make sure you never work again! Have you ever driven a damn car before? Ever read a map? Taken directions? Know what “be quick” means? Dammit! Just go park, wait for me!” Enrico ordered, his voice strong and masculine, which always came as a surprise to anyone first meeting the Bishop.

The beleaguered driver bowed and apologized again, then made a swift retreat back into the driver’s seat, and took his leave. Anderson watched as Enrico let out a huff and adjusted his glasses, looking around the tables. He raised an arm to get the Bishop’s attention. 

“Sir!” 

That was enough to grab his eye, and a small smile spread across the Bishop’s lips as he approached. 

“Father Anderson, my apologies, I know I am painfully late.” He stretched out his hand for a handshake. Anderson readily accepted, and they shook, both hands lingering for a moment afterwards. 

“Aye, et’s fine, from yer arrival Ah assume et was an issue wit’ yer driver?” He pulled the seat out for Enrico, and pushed him back close to the table once he was settled. 

“Si, I was saddled with a new one today, one that decided taking the exact opposite direction was the best way to get here.” Enrico set his case on the table, and looked around indignantly at the few café goers still looking at him. “Is this private enough?” 

“There were less people here, ye ken, awhile ago.” He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. 

Enrico sighed and held the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I suppose that was true. Can we move then?”

Grabbing his things without argument, Anderson got up. “Aye, there’s ae back area people dinnae really gae tae.” He took up the Bishop’s briefcase and led him to secluded table, away from the more popular setting. It was shaded, out of the sun and near the back. Birds fussed and flitted around in the nearby tree as they sat down once more. 

“Better.” Noticing Anderson’s lit cigarette, Enrico reached down into his pocket, then shuffled his hands wildly. “Damn it all, left them in the car. Alexander may I-“

He hadn’t even looked back up all the way before he found a box of cigarette’s being offered to him. “Nae problem. Here.”

“Ahh, grazie.” Enrico nodded in thanks and plucked one from the box with his long, slender fingers. Anderson watched him place it betwixt his pink lips, and brush back his loosely tied-back blonde trusses. 

“Light.” Anderson offered, reaching forward to light the tip, with his lighter. Their eyes locked for those few moments, in that lull of activity, waiting for the cigarette to catch. The priest’s heart pounded, looking into those beautiful eyes. 

“Grazie.” Enrico repeated, softer, and took a drag, blowing out the smoke in a smooth sultry stream. “I needed that.”

“Dinnae weh both.” Anderson smirked, taking another hit.

“Well then, back to matters, it’s good to see you Father Anderson. I apologize for my tardiness again, and thank you for being so patient.” 

“Please, dinnae waste yer breath on et, Ah’m just glad tae see ye safe, ahn that ye, still came.” He blushed, and glanced away briefly. 

It took a second for it to hit him what the larger man meant. “Oh, Alexander do you really think I’d be so uncouth as to stand you up?” He reached across the table to gently take Anderson’s hand in his. “This isn’t our first, muli-tasking meet up dear Alexander~” 

“Yeah, yeah, Ah ken, Ah can’t help worry.” Anderson squeezed the other hand fondly. “Yer at more danger than Ah am.”

“Alexander you are the most enjoyable person in the world to meet with. If I ever don’t make it I assure you it’s because matters were beyond my control.”

“Right, got et.” Staring at his partner, Anderson got lost before remembering why they were really here. “Ach, well, business before pleasure.” Going through his folders, he pulled out his first. Enrico nodded and opened his case, getting his own files. 

“You told me before about new group, a cult, that has spreading? Care to go on more about that?” 

“Aye, the “Church of the One True Messiah”, and aye, et’s been growing at an alarming rate.” He passed a sheet to the Bishop. “They’ve spread tae many major cities throughout Europe, started en Wales.” 

“Of course, fucking scum Protestants.” Enrico sneered. “They’re a plague that evolves and spreads aren’t they?”

“Hmm.” Was all Anderson said, as he pulled out another paper. “Whitever they are, they’re en th’ process o’ trying fer legal status as ae bonafide religious organization, ahn et looks loch they may beh successful en that soon.”

“The government can give them whatever title they want, it still makes them heathens in need of a cleansing.”

“Et’ll give them all the same rights and protections weh get Enrico. Et makes et sae when people look up ae list o’ world religions, weh’re on that same list as them. Et’s bullshit, ae ken. Et’s ae cult, plain ahn simple, preying on, everyone really.” 

He took another long drag, solemnly looking at his files. “They’ve only been able tae grow sae fast due tae their aggressive money acquisition methods. They demand everything from their followers; true believer status is only conferred upon those who bequeath all their worldly wealth. Et’s evil, on both secular ahn religious levels.” 

“I don’t care what happens to those so easily sucked into bullshit, Anderson. I just care about what threat they pose to our Church and our flock, and if their “growing numbers” need to be culled.”

Anderson was about to retort, when a waitress came by. They both smiled and politely ordered coffees, as if they weren’t talking about dire topics. 

“Enrico, most of th’ people “sucked intae bullshite” aren’t evil loch their leaders. Their “congregation” es broad, people o’ all ages, sucking en entire families an babes wit’ em. Ef weh’re going tae gae after them, et’s not right tae gae en guns blazing against desperate folks.”

“I. Do. Not. Care.” Enrico growled, slamming his fist down after every word. “Why! Why do you show sympathy to these people! They chose their lot, they chose heresy they chose evil! They chose to go against us!” 

“Enrico, please, keep it down.” Anderson pleaded, looking around. “Even ef ye want tae, ye can’t gae attacking them yet, they haven’t made any solid moves. Et’d look loch ye were warmongering.”

“But there’s been talk, hasn’t there? On their side?” 

“Aye, o’ course there has.” Anderson sighed, and brought out a transcript. “One o’ our agents got intae th’ main church th’ other day, was able tae listen tae’ th’ founder himself. He heard this, ae whole “sermon” on th’ evils o’ th’ Catholic faith, on how weh’re enemies tae them.” 

“It’s always us isn’t it? Always the target, when all we do is spread God’s truth. Despicable.” He sneered as he read through the incendiary words on the page. “How can you still defend them after this?” Enrico snapped, looking sharply at Anderson.

Anderson didn’t wince. “Ah’m not defending them, Ah’m not saying their not ae threat, they are, but Ah can’t bear tae see senseless casualties from this. This doesn’t have tae beh ae bloodbath, et can beh more tactful. Why can’t ye just cut off th’ head ahn leave th’ body tae die?”

“Because it won’t die Alex, it never does.” Enrico leaned forward gravely, his hands folded. “These idiots will only keep growing, their fallen leaders will be seen as martyrs, and we will become even greater threats to them. My Section does not deal in mercy, we deal in eradication. We deal in complete protection of the Church and Her people, that’s our job, and I will do it whatever means necessary.” He ended, smugly. 

Anderson frowned, and barely acknowledged the coffees being set on the table. After the waitress had left, he picked up his drink and took a small sip, then set it down, and looked Enrico square in the eye. “Ah’d appreciate et ey ye got off yer high horse luv. That’s meh job tae, Ah just dae et differently, quieter, instead o’ sending operatives in tae make ae huge ruckus and endanger ALL o’ us and leave meh ahn meh folk tae clean yer mess up.” His words were accusing, and harsh, and Enrico did not take kindly to that, his face both offended and aghast. 

“How DARE you! Of all the people! You’re giving me this nonsense! I! I!”

Seething, Enrico stood up and slammed his fist on the table, leaning over dangerously, breathing hard. 

“I’m not a bleeding heart like you are, I don’t have that luxury Father Anderson. While you sit back and merely read about threats, my organization is the one who fights them, and loses their lives against them. We don’t lead cushy careers like you do.”

“Whit! Are ye kidding!” Anderson was up now, dwarfing the smaller man. “Ah’m always out there backing ye up! Ah’m always out there gathering intel, Ah’m always working fer ye on on yer cases! Cushy! Just because Ah dinnae cut down foes doesn’t mean Ah’m not at risk! Ah’ve willingly associated mehself wit’ yer kind, Ah’m ae target tae now! Ah share yer burden!” 

“Then why the hell do you have such concern for our enemies!” 

“Ah dinnae ken, maybeh Ah’m just not as fucking bloodthirsty as ye are!” 

The slap that followed cracked like thunder, and sent a wave of silence over the entire café. From far off over the yard, people craned their necks to look at the two priests. 

Anderson stood stock still, staring at Enrico as he clutched his stinging cheek. It was bright, bright red. 

“I’m not…” Enrico gasped, his chest heaving, his hand still hanging in still air. “I, I’m leaving, I’m going.” He threw a few bills on the table grabbed his briefcase before hurrying off, leaving Anderson, silent and frozen, in his wake. 

Anderson watched sadly as the Bishop disappeared into the same black car and left. The waitress came by again, and meekly asked if everything was okay. Anderson nodded and threw a few more bills down as an extra, for causing a scene, and started to collect all his documents. 

“That cuid ‘ave gone better.” He muttered to himself, leaving the café’ painfully alone after what must have been the world’s most disastrous date. 

Next time it would be “pleasure before business”.


	2. Bachelor Pad

“Ah really need tae clean this place.” Anderson groaned. 

Right as he opened the door to his humble apartment he was greeted by one of his biggest shames, his complete inability to keep a clean personal living space. 

He kicked his shoes off, sending them flying haphazardly onto the floor and tumbling to a stop among multiple pairs of other similarly treated shoes. His socks joined them soon enough, forming a slightly larger puddle of dirty socks that just begged to be picked up.

With a small underhand toss he threw his keys onto his living room table, sending them clattering against the crumb-speckled, used dishware-laden surface. The carpet needed a vacuum, the shelves needed dusting, his kitchen needed professional help and a dish-cleaning crew, the trashcan looked like a dump, but among this mess there was one clean place. 

Passing by the mess of tangled sheets that was his bed, he sighed and gently placed his folders and papers back carefully into their places on his spotless, organized work desk. There were no liquids or foods here, nothing to potentially spill and stain his vast collection of official documents. No dirty articles of clothing or dust piles, no old magazines or haphazard books, just his work in neat, arranged piles. 

Taking the ash tray, he emptied the few cigarette butts into his small desk side bin, and wiped the inside of it with a tissue before setting it back right where it came from. He could tolerate a dirty living space, but could not work or think at a desk that looked as bad as his home. It was unprofessional.

It took a few minutes for him to unpack the files he had brought to that day’s terrible meeting. “Fucking hell, fucking diva.” He angrily muttered, slamming the last file down. “Just calling et loch et obviously es, dammit.” 

His cheek still stung, fueling his bitterness. He took out a smoke and sucked in hastily. A small wave of calm overcame him as the nicotine filled his lungs. What a day.

He collapsed on his bed and let out a deflating sigh, then closed his eyes. It started so well too, why did he have to argue? No, no he shouldn’t have to hold his tongue, he was an adult man! Just because Enrico was hot-headed and emotional, and handsome, very handsome, didn’t mean he had to be a yes man. Did Enrico just want a yes man? Oh God, he did didn’t he? Shit, shit this wasn’t the last straw was it? He didn’t want to lose Enrico, he was so lovely and nice to be around and beautiful. 

“Okay, enough thinking.” He firmly stated to himself and got up. He smothered his cig in the ash tray and started stripping down to his underwear. Being stuck in his thoughts would just drive him mad; he needed to vent, to do something. 

Time to work out. 

Grabbing the pull up bar he had installed in his bedroom doorframe, he hefted himself up. “One, two, three, four…” 

His movements were strong and smooth, his arm and back muscles bulging as he hefted himself up over the bar over and over. 

“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, fucking hell, goddammit.” 

He cursed and growled as he worked, gritting his teeth. Enrico, Enrico Enrico Enrico, Lord God why was he so difficult? Why was he so wonderful? 

“Can weh just date normally? Seventy! Seventy-one!” 

His body was screaming. His arms were on fire, everything hurt like hell, but it was good, it hurt so good. 

Just like Enrico. He hurt so damn good. 

Sweat was dripping from his forehead, rolling down his sculpted, tight back, and streaming down the moistened small of his back onto the waistband of his briefs, right above his round buttocks. He was built, his body shaped after years of intense exercise just like this.   
As he was pulling himself up for another rep, a sudden thought crossed his mind, breaking his concentration.

Did Enrico workout? 

Did the svelte leader of Vatican assassins strip down, sweat, and moan and groan in that smooth, deadly voice of his? Was he toned underneath those robes? Was his ass as round and firm as it looked? Did he ever need someone to spot him? Or even better, teach him the ropes? Maybe he could guide him, leading his body to move correctly with gentle hands, feeling the heat and latent strength of his body as it flexed underneath his fingers.

Then they could shower together, naked, alone, with Enrico’s long hair sopping wet and plastered to his bare body.

Anderson let out a shaky moan, and for a split second, almost lost his grip. 

“Shit! Focus!” 

Clutching the bar hard, he continued his personal torture, his fitness hell. 

Screaming in exertion, he pulled himself up, one last time. “ONE-HUNDRED!” He roared in triumph and dropped to the floor with a great thump. It was obvious he was not a quiet man when it came to exercise. 

Chest heaving up and down, he groaned in pain and relief and closed his eyes. “Fuck, Ah did et. 100.” Slowly, he stretched out his arms, easing the tight muscles. Sweat glistening on his skin, he rolled over after a few minutes and got up for a drink of water. 

It took him a bit to find a clean glass, but he found the last one and filled it from the tap, and chugged it in one go. 

“Ahhhh, okay. Back tae et.” 

He wasn’t done with his workout, oh no. He continued on to push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and finding his dumbbells under yesterday’s pair of pants, he worked his already screaming arms.   
Maybe he should go out tonight, get a drink, and relax. It was Friday. He could go out dressed as a layman, enjoy the bustle of a busy bar, and not be stuck at home just pining over the man he was currently in a fight with. 

“Done! Done!” He strongly stated to himself and set the weights down. Shaking out his arms, he let out a heavy breath and headed for the shower. His body was grossly sweaty, the hairs on his chest plastered to his skin like a wet bear. 

Peeling his sweaty underwear off, he tossed it towards his hamper but missed, and the crumpled up, sweat-soaked fabric joined a sad pile of other pairs that had missed the hamper.

“Eh, Ah’ll get et later.” Anderson always told himself, and put off cleaning up the gross collection for yet another day. 

He flicked his bathroom light switch on; bringing a sight to view that would repulse the un-initiated. More dirty, damp, moldy smelling garments sat in a sad unwashed pile right behind the door, making it so Anderson couldn’t fully open the door in a way that was very annoying but still not annoying enough for him to move it into the washer. The rug desperately needed to be changed; it had started out white, and it was now a dark, depressing grey. The sink area was a cluttered hazard zone of bottles and razors, and soap scum covered the surface. 

Anderson glanced in the mirror, rubbing his over-grown jaw line. The vast ocean of smudges and stains all over the glass heavily obscured his face, but he could still see a bit of his face. He could still shave in it; he didn’t need to clean it yet. 

Stepping over the previously used wet towel he stepped into his shower, past the overflowing bathroom trash can and the toilet that hadn’t seen a toilet brush in a very long time. 

Drawing the moldy shower curtain closed, he turned the water on, turned the showerhead on, and promptly yelped as the initial blast of cold water hit his bare chest. 

“Fuck! Cuid ye not!” He yelled at the inanimate showerhead. It didn’t respond. It just kept spraying out water that did thankfully turn hot. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, he bent his head forward and let the cleansing water run all over him, washing the sweat and grime from the day down the drain.

Well, sort of. The drain was a bit plugged with accumulated hair so the water lingered and formed a shallow puddle in the tub. It did drain, just slower than a clean tub.

Taking his bar of soap he lathered himself up, under his armpits and over his back and chest, really making sure he cleaned up thoroughly. The hot steam mixed with the soap, filling the bathroom with the intoxicating heady scents of cardamom and bergamot. 

Breathing in the steam, Anderson let himself muse and ponder. Would Enrico like this smell? Was he more a fan of traditionally masculine scents, or did he have no issue with those considered feminine? He was so, well, both! Alluring and graceful, seductive in voice and form, but strong, impassioned, commanding, he was a tantalizing basket of flavors Anderson just wanted to dive into. 

They were fighting though.

Grunting in aggravation, he grabbed the shampoo bottle and rubbed it roughly into his hair. “Ah shuid call him, argh, wuid he even pick up? Ugh, Ah’m not entirely wrong though, he’s sae eager tae kill! But he has ae point, cults ‘ave ae history o’ lingering even wit’oot their leaders…” 

His thoughts wandered to that fresh image of Enrico taking in a drag of his cigarette, of those sweet, blue eyes looking at him with fondness. Those hands holding his, those slender, soft fingers, his smile, his warm voice. 

Maybe he could head in tomorrow. He’d be at his office working, like he did every day. Apologize for being a bit too rough maybe. Anderson could get heated as well. 

Maybe they could make up, and sit with one another and talk, without any pretense of working. Just the two of them on the couch, or even in his wide bed, holding each other’s hands and being so close they got hot from each other’s body heat. 

What he wouldn’t do to be naked with him.

Shampoo rinsed from his hair, Anderson let his hands wander down somewhere lower. Much lower. 

Closing his eyes, he leaned against the shower wall and shivered as he grabbed his hefty cock, stroking it slowly. He groaned, seeing his partner in his mind’s eye, under him on plush, clean sheets, with a playful grin on his face. 

“Alexander, come here.” Enrico lifted his arms up and wrapped them around Anderson’s neck. Obeying the pressure on his back, Anderson leaned down and placed small kisses along the edges of Enrico’s lips, eliciting a sweet giggle from his lover.

“Stop, that tickles. Just kiss me.” 

Anderson did so, pressing his lips to Enrico’s fully, and slender fingers entangled themselves in his short black hair. Enrico moaned into their tender kiss, and opening his lips, invited Anderson to deepen it. 

“Fuck.” Anderson grunted, stroking himself harder, feeling as if Enrico’s mouth there, hot against his and tentatively making out with him. They’d barely even kissed on the lips before, would he be good at it? It’d be fine, it’d be perfect. 

Breaking away, Enrico shot him an alluring glance before un-doing his shirt, and taking it off, revealing to Anderson all of his creamy white flesh, down to the start of his slight v. He ran his hands up over his chest teasingly. “Come here Alexander~ Come touch me~” 

Wet sounds bounced off the bathroom walls as Anderson beat himself off faster, harder. His legs felt weak and shaky, and he was forced to lean more of his weight against the wall. Breathing hard, he whined and moaned Enrico’s name under his breath. 

Anderson needed no further invitation, and held both sides of Enrico’s slender waist. His body flexed and shivered under his touch, and the blonde Bishop made small sounds of surprise, and excitement. “That’s good, yes.” His partner moaned, and Anderson ran his hands gently, languidly upwards, stopping at his chest. Hesitating for a moment, he stroked one of Enrico’s erect pink nipples with a feather-light touch, and the man crooned. “Alex! I want you~”

“Oh fuck, Enrico, Enrico, fuck Ah want ye tae.” 

The pressure in his cock released, and Anderson threw his head back in a deep, throaty cry of pleasure. Hips bucking, his hand gave jerking pulls to his dick, and thick, heavy ropes of cum shot out across the shower, coating the curtain in a thick layer of cum. 

Whimpering painfully as he came down from his orgasm, Anderson’s legs were too shaky to hold him up, forcing him to slide his body to the floor, panting for breath as the water continued to pour down over his head. He looked up, after his recovery, and sighed in disappointment. 

Back to reality. 

Getting up, he washed himself off and, as he stepped out of the shower, ripped the soiled curtain down. He would just buy a new one; this was too messy to salvage. 

He padded down his hallway to the kitchen, still soaking wet, and stuffed it into a trash bag and tied it shut. Only when it was disposed of did he return to properly dry off with one of his last remaining dry, clean towels. 

Just as he was rubbing his hair dry, his stomach rumbled, and he suddenly remembered he hadn’t exactly eaten lunch. Too much had happened around that time for him to feel hungry. Also if he was going to go out he shouldn’t go out starving, it was a bit of a recipe for disaster when alcohol was involved.   
Towel wrapped around his waist, he made his way back to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and took mental inventory of what he saw. “Ah need tae gae shopping…”

Unlike his apartment, his refrigerator was actually pretty clean, due to the saving grace of him eating almost everything he bought extraordinarily fast. He had the appetite of a teenage boy forever stuck in a tenacious growth spurt. 

Grabbing the old remainder of some sliced turkey, a half loaf of bread, an almost empty jar of mayo, old lettuce, and a whole stick of delicious, delicious salami, and with them threw together a big mostly salami and a little bit of turkey sandwich. 

With plate of food and a beer in hand he plopped down on his couch and chowed down, naked, in his filthy apartment. He was an obscene example of bachelor life. 

The bars would be hopping tonight, he thought, stuffing the last hunk of food into his mouth and almost choking in the process. He took a big swig of drink to wash it down. 

It would be better if they were busy, the noise would keep his mind from brooding over today’s events. Which he was already starting to do again, thinking about how hurt Enrico had looked before he stormed off. 

“Ahh shite, et’s tae quiet en here.” He grumbled, leaving his plate and glass on the coffee table, and went to his record player. Filing through his collection, he stopped in his favorite section. 

Queen.

He had every album on his shelf; he’d been a fan for years. An unorthodox taste for a priest but he also just fantasized about his gay partner so…. 

“Yeah, get this going.” Setting up in the player “Sheer Heart Attack”, he felt instantly better as those sweet sweet rocking tunes filled his apartment. 

It was time to get ready to go out on the town. 

In his bedroom he found a clean pair of dark denim jeans and a black collared shirt. He slipped some underwear on, pulled up his pants, buckled his brown leather belt, and buttoned up his shirt. All the way up too. He might be going out but he wasn’t looking to take anyone home. 

He glanced over at his sad, drowning hamper of dirty clothes.

Yeah he wouldn’t even take Enrico back to his home with it looking like this. 

Rubbing his chin, he decided that maybe he should shave again. The rough hair was getting long, and he didn’t want to look unkempt. Show Enrico a fresh face tomorrow, if they were able to meet up. Bet he’d absolutely love it. 

As he started to shave, the starting notes of “Killer Queen” started up, and Anderson could not help humming along. He also couldn’t help thinking of his fancy love interest.

“He’s ae Killer, Queeeeeen! Gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed tae blow meh mind! Anytimmmmme!” 

His gruff singing was louder than the music as he sang along, and it was blasting pretty loud. Overcome with music, he brought his razor down, held it like a guitar, and rocked out some messy, dorky air guitar to the riffs of the song, all in the privacy of his home. He would never do this around anyone else. He would die.

With the addition of his impromptu air guitar sessions, shaving took a little longer but usual, but in the end he had a good, clean face. Smooth and soft to the touch. 

Hopefully Enrico’s touch. Lord that would be heavenly. 

He fixed his hair just a bit before deciding he was set. It didn’t take a lot for him to clean up, and once he had his shoes on and his keys and wallet in his pocket, he was all set to head out the door. 

 

And right into the barrel of large gun pointing directly between his eyes.


	3. The Bishop

 

 

 Enrico slammed the door behind him and stormed into his office.

“How dare he! HOW DARE HE! I’M A BISHOP! I’M ENRICO MAXWELL!”

He roared into his empty office, throwing his briefcase onto his desk and thrashing the air. He screamed and spun, full of an intense and overwhelming frustrated anger that boiled over within him. He was a human storm running amok, but with nothing to vent upon except the unfeeling inanimate décor of his office.

Flinging an arm across his desk he sent papers flying into the air in a distressed flutter. He kicked one of his chairs across the room, he flipped his small coffee table, he attacked everything he saw and yelled and shrieked and cried, his hair loose and flying about his face like a wild banshee.

“Everyone! Everyone is always against me! ALWAYS! You’re not supposed to be against me TOO!”

His liaison’s job was to not doubt and critique him, to INSULT him; his job was to SUPPORT him, to AID him, to further their mission of protecting the Lord’s Church! How dare he disrespect HIM and his most holy mission!

“Soft hearted fool! Idiot! How dare he! Wasting my time with his pity for our enemies! Insulting me, ME! He’s only in such a high position because I CHOSE him to aid me! I chose him, I chose him to, to, to help me…”

 

That look of anger and disgust, that disapproval, it was stuck in his mind and it HURT.

_“Ah dinnae ken, maybeh Ah’m just not as fucking **bloodthirsty** as ye are!”_

He screamed, his cry piercing and pained into the empty air, and finally he deflated, crumpling to the ground in an undignified heap, with tears prickling at the edges of his eyes.

“Bloodthirsty. He thinks I’m a monster doesn’t he?”

He lay down and curled into himself, shaking as he clutched his own lonely body. “I’m not. I’m not.”

He was used to it. His whole life had been a series of rejection and spite from nearly everyone. His family, his caretakers, his colleagues. He was used to it, he didn’t NEED them, and he didn’t CARE for them.

But he cared for this man, and it felt so good to think that this man cared for him too. It made things, different, difficult, and much more injurious.

The sharp crack of his slap rang painfully in his mind. He had hit him.

_“Don’t you dare touch me! Get away! Back to your room you little monster!”_

Another harsh crack pierced his ears, and he clutched his own cheek and winced. He still felt it after all these years, that phantom pain.

Oh God he had hit Alexander. He shouldn’t have done that; oh no, no he didn’t want to be like _him_ , like _her_ , like all of them.

Clutching his face in his hands, he moaned in anguish. “No, no no no I’ve ruined it haven’t I? Why? Why do you have to be so _kind?”_

Anderson’s happy grin as he waved him over to the table he had held for him, his obvious joy at just being around Enrico, his warm company, Alexander was so, different than him. They were both hardworking men, with strong aspirations and ambitions, but Alexander retained so much in-grained goodness in him, Enrico felt it shining through whenever he was around him.

He was envious of it.

He loved it.

But at the end of the day, it always made him remember how broken he truly was.

Slowly, he wrenched himself from the floor, and stood back up. He viewed his trashed office with shame, and started to pick everything back up.

“Mess, I’m a mess, over a squabble. A stupid little spat.” He sighed, and wiped a few stray tears from his eyes with his sleeve. Picking up his papers, he sat down and started organizing them all again into their own piles.

“Bastard, how dare he make me like this.” He muttered angrily, separating his files. He was so frustrated and upset he could barely make out the words on his documents.

All except for one.

It was a letter in a wax-sealed envelope, with the symbol of the Vatican Treasury on it. At the sight of this seal Enrico’s chest tightened. “So, they chose today to make their decision.” He chuckled at the great timing, and grabbing a letter opener, sliced the top open to face what it contained.

_“To the Most Reverend Bishop Maxwell, Head of Section 13 Iscariot,_

_We regret to inform you that your request for a budgetary increase has been denied. Due to the already high costs of your operations, and the recent expenses incurred by your Section’s activities, there is deemed to be no reason to afford your Grace’s department any higher funds. If there is an imperative need for your services or Iscariot’s spending trends decrease, your request will be reconsidered."_

_Signed, Cardinal Emilio_

The paper shook in Enrico’s hands. “You idiots. How dare you talk down to me? How dare you!”

In a fit of fury and a gnashing of teeth he tore the letter apart violently, sending paper shreds flying around.

“They don’t realize how important what I do is! For fuck’s sake of COURSE IT’S EXPENSIVE! I’M FIGHTING A WAR FOR US!”

He got up and paced the room frantically. Shit. His agents were expecting raises, his armory needed updating, medical costs were ever present, transportation, repairs, administrative costs, funeral, training, he had to juggle it all! And yet the only thing everyone outside could see were his “failures”. The missions that ended in victory but were just too messy for everyone’s delicate tastes.

And all he got in return was a short, tongue-in-cheek letter!

He went to his window and stared outside, down at the courtyard where various clergy milled about. “Ignorant fools, all of them, they don’t understand what it takes to be God’s Judgment upon earth. They don’t know the sacrifices we all make.” It was because of the one Bishop they all mocked that they could live such carefree lives.

Ungrateful. Disrespectful.

Enrico stood there, fuming and hot, when there was a knock on his door.

“Hey Chief! Hey! It’s Heinkel, I’m coming in so don’t be doing anything weird!”

Completely unaware of her boss’s foul mood, Heinkel Wolfe strode in with the familiarity of a family member.

“Chief, what’s going on? Something going on down there? You see that nerd you’re crushing on walking around? Didn’t you just see him today?” She helped herself to a seat and lounged, and took out her cigarette box and lighter. “ Oh, right, hey, did your request come back yet? How much did we get? Yumiko and I better be seeing a piece of that sweet pie.”

“Wolfe.” Enrico spoke quietly. A dangerous sign. “Do not address me in such an uncouth fashion right now. I’m not in the mood.”

Heinkel lit up a smoke. “Didn’t work out did it?” She took a drag and breathed out a heavy stream of smoke from between rounded lips.

“No, everything worked out perfectly. We have tons of money and I can make everyone happy and give everyone a new car!”

He spun around fast, his eyes burning.

“OF COURSE IT DIDN’T WORK OUT YOU IDIOT! Not after what you and that air-head have done!” He balled up the shredded letter and tossed it at his subordinate. “I look like a fool because of YOU!”

“Hey! We complete our missions perfectly fine! Don’t blame us because those assholes over in Treasury are so uptight!” She yelled back, catching the paper and throwing it to her side. “Yumiko and I are damn good agents! We’re the best ones you got!”

“You’re the reason no takes this organization seriously! You and that, that, that **crazed** berserker!”

 ** _“Don’t.”_** Heinkel stated firmly, pointing a finger right in Enrico’s face. “Stop, don’t bring her into this. Don’t talk about her like that.”

Enrico sneered and slapped her hand away. “I’ll say whatever I like! I am your leader how dare you talk to me like that! I’m the reason you two rampaging fools have a place to call home!”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? Do you know who you’re lashing out at right now?” Heinkel spat, getting closer. “Yeah, we fuck up a few, but we are not your enemies, we are not just your “subordinates”. Damn it Enrico you know this isn’t just because we made a few messes you **KNOW** that!”

“On my side? A few! I’m the one blamed for everything! You don’t help me! If anything you two have proved to be just albatrosses around my neck!” He pushed forward, hands up to Heinkel’s face and gesticulating angrily. “You take advantage of my closeness to you! Striding in here like it’s nothing! Being trigger-happy whenever you like! Yumiko just being her crazy-ass, dangerous self and no one stopping her!”

“Shut up! Shut up! She can’t help it! Fuck you! **Fuck you!** ”

Heinkel’s face was fire red with anger and pain, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Enrico stood in silent fury, beyond offended by Heinkel’s outburst.

“Crazy? Dangerous? You know that’s not true! Don’t fucking tell me you think that’s true! What do you do to help her hmm? Send her out to kill for your benefit? Barely ever giving her a break? Goddammit Enrico! She’s basically your sister! I’m basically your sister! And yet you treat her like she’s just a tool! Like I’m just a tool!”

“It is your JOB! It is your job and I expect you two to do it well! To not make me look like a fool who can’t run his own ship and control his own agents!” Enrico’s fists were clenched hard and his face wild. “I’m such a joke that even Anderson finds it fit to critique me!”

Heinkel’s face switched to one of shock, and then anger. Enrico, realizing what he had just let slip out, looked aghast. “Are you fucking kidding me? Did you have a spat today? Are you fucking taking that out on me are you kidding me?”

“That is not what I’m doing-“

“Yes it is! All of this is!” Heinkel got right in his face again, but this time Enrico turned his face, not meeting her eyes. “The rejection letter, your personal BULLSHIT! I am not your punching bag Enrico! Yumiko is not your punching bag BROTHER!”

He was quiet, and Heinkel was quiet.

The air between them was tense and heavy with pain.

“Well, nothing else to say? You done venting upon me? Beating me up? Because I’m done. I’m done and tired of being your punching bag.” Heinkel left his face and gathered her things. Enrico said nothing, still not looking at her.

“We’re not your enemies Rico, Lord knows I wish you would remember that. Have a great fucking day asshole.”

She gave him a sarcastic salute and left, slamming the door hard behind her.

Enrico was then alone again. Alone with the burden of his fresh regret and shame.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Opening the door to the confessional, Enrico stepped in and closed the door behind him. Taking a deep calming breath, he kneeled and faced the grated window, hands clasped together.

The priest behind the grate spoke in a soothing, old voice. “Bless you my child. What brings you here today?”

Enrico made the sign of the cross and started. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was last Thursday, but today I have committed great sins of anger against those close to me.”

“Ah, haven’t we all? It is so human to take those closest to us for granted. Anger is a poisonous thing; we must always be vigilant against falling prey to its influence. Tell me, my child, what plagues you?”

Enrico appreciated the gentle tone of the priest. He recognized the voice and had gotten him before. He was obviously a skilled man when it came to confessions.

“I, snapped, and raged upon an associate of mine this afternoon. We got in an argument, and in my unjust fury I struck him with my palm.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yes, I am ashamed of my actions. It was wrong to lash out, he is a good man.” Enrico bent his head down lower, feeling sharp stabs in his chest. He clenched his hand that had done the deed hard.

“Good man or not, to strike him was indeed wrong. Have you reconciled with this associate yet?”

“No, I have not. I have been too angry all day to think about it.”

“Hmm, and you have, in your anger, committed more offenses?”

“Oh of course.” Enrico chuckled in self-depreciation. “Yes, against someone I consider a sibling. Two people, actually, I spoke cruelly about both of them, yelled, and berated them unfairly. Treated them like they meant less to me than they actually do. I was cruel, so cruel…”

His voice trailed off at the end, and he felt so weak and small. This is not how a Bishop should act; this wasn’t how a great person acted.

When would he be truly great?

“This saddens me to hear.” The priest said solemnly. “I am sure God is saddened by this strife as well, how it has hurt you and the ones you care about. Do you sincerely regret your actions?”

“Yes. I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life.” Enrico said, his head still bowed.

“I hear you and I am sure God hears you. Pray upon the Rosary, perform 20 Hail Mary’s and reflect upon your transgressions. Then, I must recommend that you make amends with those you have slighted. Repair your relationships with these good people, for what you share with them surely will strengthen your heart to do better in the future, and continue in your efforts to serve the Lord. Work on controlling your anger, always strive to reject its grip and keep a level head."

“Thank you Father. I will keep your words close to my heart as I work in the name of the Lord.”

“I am glad. I hope I have provided some counsel for you to ease your heavy heart. Do you wish to pray?”

“Yes Father.”

Making another sign of the cross, Enrico prayed the prayer of Contrition, meticulously, carefully, truly appreciating this sacrament that Jesus Christ gifted to humanity in his mercy. How were there people who held hostility in their hearts and minds towards the Church, when it granted such absolute salvation, he would never know. He would fight them though, fight them to the end.

When he finished, there were tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. As the priest spoke the prayer of Absolution, he struggled over what faced him. He had to apologize to Alexander, to Heinkel. Heinkel it was easier, but Alexander. Would he even accept it? Oh what had he done?

“Amen.” Enrico said as the prayer ended, and made the sign of the cross over his chest again. “Thank you Father.”

“No, thank you for coming to confess and right your sins. It is a blessing that I fear not many people take advantage of as much as they should these days.”

“Heh, don’t I know it. Well, I should be going, have a blessed day Father.” Enrico started to get up.

“Bless you my son, I wish you success in your penance.”

Enrico closed the confessional door gently behind him, took another deep breath, and walked off. He didn’t feel much better to be honest. So, unforgiven and guilty. Sitting down in a pew, he took out his wooden rosary beads, well worn from years of dedicated use, and began to pray.

“Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee….”

He hated apologizing, but this situation was different. He couldn’t afford to drive away his only compatriots. His lover.

Oh God his lover.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God…”

Wasn’t that the worst sin he had been committing recently? An ordained Bishop, involved in a romantic tryst with one of the same sex? Another priest even? But how could he ask forgiveness from it when he only wished to continue it? Why, he had gone to confession partly to help heal the rift he had caused between him and his lover.

What was he doing? Everything, everything he did he did wrong and messed it up. Could he truly make amends with Alexander? With Heinkel? Did it really matter? He would most likely just be a raging fool again and again; did it even matter to try?

Maybe it was for the best if Alexander came to detest him, then he would no longer be involved in this sinful relationship.

“Hail Mary, full of Grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou….”

He couldn’t stop though could he? Again, he would still pine for him, to just be with him. He cared for the man, more than he should, more than God intended for him to.

Yet he was an Iscariot. Did it matter? Did it matter that he loved a man when he killed multitudes? For the Lord or not it was still a mortal sin was it not? Everyone in Iscariot knew this. Knew they would either be going to Hell or Purgatory, but heaven was closed to them. Maybe then it truly didn’t matter for his soul that he cared for a man.

It mattered for Alexander’s soul though.

Enrico faltered in his prayer and dropped his rosary in shock. “N-no. Oh God.”

Scrambling to pick up the beads, he started to sweat, and his hands trembled as he wrapped the beads around them again. Alexander wasn’t an Iscariot, he wasn’t automatically doomed to be rejected from Heaven’s Grace, and it did matter for him! It mattered that Enrico Maxwell, a Bishop, was luring him down a dark sinful path!

“H-hail M-m-m-Mary, full of Grace.”

What was he! What was he a Bishop or an incubus! He was just like his mother! His awful whore mother! A whore just like her! He was dragging a good man down with him, dragging him into affairs of death and killing and sexual desires!

“Amen!”

He finished his last penance and stood up, his body trembling, tears falling down his face. He was a bastard child, that’s all he was when it came down to it. A bastard child, born from adultery and sin!

He had to leave; he couldn’t have anyone see him in such a state. He was still technically a Bishop after all.

Rushing out of the chapel, Enrico Maxwell ran to the sanctum of his room, to his private haven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _“So next we’re going to spread the mascarpone over the lady finger layers we’ve created, just like so.”_ The lady on the cooking show said happily, smoothing the sweet soft cheese over the fragile espresso soaked cookies. Enrico sipped his wine and watched the soothing motions, curled up under the covers in his bed.

 _“Wow! Sarah that looks just divine!”_ The co-host chirped excitedly.

_“Yes! Tiramisu is just such an elegant dessert, absolutely perfect for wowing your dinner guests or just to treat you and your boyfriend to luxury!"_

“Don’t bring that up Sarah you stupid bitch. I’m not in the mood. Cook the damn food.” Enrico berated the TV screen, and took another long drink. “I just want to see pastries….”

_“Now, usually you would have to chill your masterpiece for at least 4 hours, but we have one all ready to go!”_

_“Wow! So beautiful! I can’t wait to taste it!”_

_“Let’s dig in!”_

Both hosts took up dainty silver forks and ate a single bite from each of their respective slices, and made faces of strange, uncanny orgasmic pleasure.

_“Sooooooo good! Mmmmm!”_

_“Yummers!”_

“Fuck, fuck off I hate these two why am I watching them?” He picked up his guide and looked up what was coming next. “Hmm, not great tonight. 4 hours my ass, an overnight chill at best is required to really get the flavors infused into the cake.” He grumbled and turned the TV off, and downed his drink. He stretched his arms, and suddenly realized he hadn’t bathed that day yet. He felt gross, for multiple reasons.

Getting up, he went to his bathroom and stripped down, folding his clothes neatly and leaving them outside the bathroom door in a stacked pile. His smooth, pale body fully exposed, he walked comfortably to the tub and started the water. It poured into his huge porcelain tub, and filled the air with calming steam. Enrico breathed it in and sighed in pleasure, and poured some bubble bath mix into the water. It foamed up with thick, lavender scented bubbles; it was a mix specifically marketed as being good for “relaxation” and “to promote restful sleep”. It didn’t always help, but he enjoyed the smell.

Once the tub was filled, Enrico stepped in and lowered his lithe body into the heated, scented water. The bubbles closed in around him once he had settled in, hiding him under a layer of soapy fluff. He loved bubble baths, adored them even. They made him feel safe, enclosed in a soft ephemeral blanket of fragile bubbles. The bathtub bottom was solid against his back, there was no rushing water over his mouth or anything constricting him, no rough burlap, and it was a good nice bath.

Stretching out his long arms, he took a washcloth and lazily rubbed it up and down his skin. He raised one beautiful, strong, dancer-like leg up one after another to scrub them down as well. Bubbles slipped off his body as he moved, and the water swished gently about him. Letting his hair down, he dunked his head very, very briefly to wet it, then worked some vanilla scented shampoo into it. It smelled like a freshly baked cake, perfectly delightful.

Maybe he should get Heinkel a cake to apologize, or even better make one. Set some time aside tomorrow to brush off his cake pans and mixing bowls. What was that one she liked? Oh, yes, the black forest. He still had the recipe that Father Lewis had made for her, she’d love it.

_“Here Enrico, fold en th’ eggs en loch this.”_

Closing his eyes, he could almost feel those rough, weathered hands on his as he was first taught the fine difference between folding and mixing.

_“Ye want tae beh gentle, mixing tae much makes et tough, yer just folding th’ eggs en, loch tucking someone intae bed. There ye gae!”_

He missed him, they all did, the three of them. Father Lewis, he’d been the only true father figure, the only parent figure he’d ever had. He’d been the one to save him when he had been thrown away to die, he had encouraged him down his current path, he had, one day, revealed to them Iscariot itself, reveal that this kindly man that had a penchant for making cookies and cakes was an agent of God’s punishment on earth.

He was such a wonderful man.

Taken away from them too early, and in too cruel a fashion.

He opened his eyes and started washing the shampoo out, forcing the thoughts out, quelling the tight anger that always constricted his chest at the memory. Not now, he had to calm himself tonight.

Alexander was a Scot too.

He shared that same heavy accent.

“Damn it. Stop it.” He huffed and rubbed his face. He had to stop thinking of him, of all of them. At the same time he had to contact him and apologize. Should he make something for Alexander as well? Wait, what did he like? Did he even like sweets? Of course he did, everyone did.

But, but what if he didn’t want a gift from Enrico? What if he really didn’t want anything to do with him? “Stop!” Frustrated, he got out of the bath and started to dry off.

“Stop it! Let me rest!” He yelled at no one in particular.

What if Alexander just tolerated him and pretended to like him, because he was a Bishop?

A priest being pressured into a relationship with someone more powerful than him, it happened, it could be happening now.

Enrico was a whore’s child, who would want him? He was just coercing Alexander. Enrico was forcing him. He was dirty demon’s child hurting an innocent man.

He was trash and had deserved to be tossed into that river.

“Shut up! Shut up!” He gripped his head and screamed, screamed into the steamy air as panic strengthened it’s steely grip around his chest, squeezing, squeezing, **squeezing**.

It was hard to breathe, he felt like he was drowning, felt like he did that day when he was drowning, trapped with the icy water filling his lungs, dying, screaming for air for light for _anything_.

He hates you.

“Shut up!”

They hate you.

“Shut up!”

You’re a _whore_!

“ **Shut up!** ”

You should die!

You should die!

“ **STOP! STOP! STOP IT!** ” Spinning around he drove his fist into his mirror and shattered it.

He screamed. Blood gushed from his hand, pierced with thick shards of glass.

He fell to the ground. He screamed.

He fell to his side. He screamed.

He cried. He screamed.

He bled, and he screamed.

He screamed.

He screamed.

He screamed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somehow, someway, he had pulled himself up. He had found tweezers, bandages, and antiseptic. He had somehow, in his daze, in his dissociated state, removed the glass shards, placed them on the counter in a neat pile, cleaned his wounded hand, stanch the bleeding with styptic, and wrapped it in gauze and bandages.

Later he would realize the rather nice job he had done on his hand, and commend himself for still remembering his first aid training, even during a mental break. Right now though, at that moment, he washed off the blood from his body, dried himself, and left the bathroom in a bloody, shattered mess.

Later he would put in a work request for his room, and soon it would be repaired and cleaned up, no questions asked. Who would go out of their way to express concern for him anyways? He was just the Iscariot Chief that no one wanted around.

For now though, the exhausted man dragged himself into his bedroom, got into his bed, and pulled the covers up over him. He curled back into the warm pillows, and reached over with his non-wounded hand to his bedside stand, and grabbed his TV remote.

Click.

_“Fill your pastry bag with the ricotta mixture you’ve just crafted and, without the tip, pipe your cannoli shells full of it! Now you want it so the cream reaches all the way to the other side of the shell, no one likes half-filled cannolis.”_

_“Divine! I can’t wait to try them!”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hours later. Long hours later.

Deep into the night when the stars were full out and the moon was full, Enrico clicked the television off, and rolled over.

He set the remote down, and picked up his phone. He placed the receiver to his ear, dialed a certain, special number, and waited for the other end to pick up.

“Hello? Ah,thank you for picking up, I know it’s late.”


End file.
